


hang your star

by twigcollins



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigcollins/pseuds/twigcollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LeFou says goodbye to a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hang your star

One night, when LeFou was a child, his father had taken him up from where he’d been playing by the fire, sweeping them both out into the cool, summer air. His family was poor but content, farmers and weavers with enough left at the end of the day to keep them fed and clothed. He was a happy child, but as with all families, his father hoped for a brighter future for his son.

“Look up,” he murmured, and LeFou gasped, nothing in his short life able to describe the majesty of the night sky. An endless sea of light, so wide and majestic that at any moment he thought it would drop down in a flood, sweep over their little house and the trees and even the far-off mountains, drowning it all.

“You’ll grow up soon enough, and have to face the night alone, on your own two feet.” LeFou tightened his grip on his father’s hand, alarmed at the thought, but still looking up at the brilliant sky.

“You know, each of those stars is a person, living their life, just like I’ve lived mine, and you’ll live yours. So many of us, and sometimes you’ll feel like you’re such a small light, lost among all that brilliance. Without every star, though, the sky wouldn’t be much to look at.”

His father knelt down, and hugged him, and LeFou was not so young that he didn’t know when it was important to listen, and remember.

“You are who you are, and you must be proud of it. The important thing is to find the widest sky you can, and hang your star there.”

As a child, it had sounded like good, strong advice. By the time he watched Gaston kill five birds with four shots to the cooing admiration of all the local girls, his father’s advice seemed silly, even a little mistaken. Passed down for so long that the translation had changed, and it really meant nothing at all.

Or maybe his father had understood more than LeFou had known, not that it mattered much now – and now that there was no Gaston to be jealous of anymore.

LeFou sighed, rubbing dust on the toes of his shoes as he stepped on one and then the other in absentminded anxiety. Still standing short enough that he could rest at the side of the road leading up to the castle, and be completely ignored.

It was Cosette who first mentioned the trip, his wife coaxing and urging until LeFou found himself standing in front of a waiting carriage, ready to take him to Belle’s wedding. He hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to do much of anything but till the crops that couldn’t wait and sit in the darkness and think about not being there when he ought to have been. Not being there when his friend had died.

No one knew what had happened, until Belle herself had returned to the village. Phillipe with ribbons in his hair, and jewels on Belle’s fingers and around her neck. A beautiful dress, fit for a princess – and yet still the same girl they’d always known, telling them a story of an enchanted castle and the beast who was now a man, a king.

If he hadn’t been attacked by a full dinner service, LeFou might not have believed it.

He didn’t want to believe it, when she’d asked for him, told him in a terrible, gentle way what had happened to Gaston. How his friend had nearly killed her beloved, out of anger and jealousy. How he’d fallen to his death, and the body couldn’t be recovered. LeFou thought he’d thanked her, before he’d turned away. He hadn’t watched her go, only smiling a little when Cosette mentioned the wedding, the invitations for most of the town. Belle was too forgiving, though she knew no one else and it would take time for others to move closer to the once-enchanted lands.

LeFou berated himself, but not so harshly for all that had happened. He knew Gaston too well to think he could have made a difference – even if he’d stayed, been there to watch his friend fall, he doubted he could have stopped the man from trying to kill his... rival, LeFou supposed. Gaston enjoyed the chase only when he was hunting game. In anything else – especially love - he expected things to just fall into place. It had always been that way before.

Admittedly, coming to the castle felt no worse than staying home. The village had turned him into a bit of a pariah, trying to pretend they’d never been roused to violence, never really wanted to attack the castle. All trying to distance themselves from any mention of Gaston – they wouldn’t even say his name anymore. The trophies in the tavern were gone, LeFou hadn’t had a chance to save any of them.

So little remained of the man he had called his friend.

Sighing, LeFou made his way up the path to the castle. It was a beautiful day, and the shining stone and well-kept gardens were nothing like what he remembered. The foreboding, bleak palace they’d stormed was now just a blur of dark and gray in his mind, even the enchanted objects fading from memory. It was - from the stories his mother and grandmother had told him - the way magic behaved, or perhaps misbehaved.

He looked up, trying to decide where he should try to go, just which window was close enough to look down over the wide, rocky chasm he assumed held the remains of his friend. LeFou closed his eyes, fighting against the sudden spate of tears. He’d refused to cry all this time, too afraid someone would see. Some would certainly call him stupid for his grief, for befriending the man in the first place.

At the worst times, he would admit he was more pack horse than friend, but even those days weren’t so bad. Gaston knocking on his door so hard he threatened to cave it in, a gleam in his eye and his rifle on his back, ready to march to the borders of the country to find good hunting grounds. Or carrying a pair of fishing poles, shoving the basket in his hands before LeFou could find both his shoes.

It was a happy memory – he had many happy memories - and that was enough for him to stubbornly make his way through the gate, not caring if any of the servants saw him or what they thought.

Odd really, how polite they were, both the people who had once been objects and the villagers who had been trying to stomp on them. LeFou thought he could vaguely decipher what some of the servants must have been, though he tried not to stare, not wanting to be noticed. The moment no one was looking his way, he slipped up the back stairs, beginning a rather arduous climb to the top.

Gaston had been selfish, and proud, and quick to anger – but he could be generous too. Any successful hunt or contest meant a party at the tavern, his spoils split up among everyone in town – even Belle and her father had been glad for the help in a lean winter.

He was also the one who had nudged LeFou toward Cosette, a sharp elbow jab that all but left him falling in her arms, though anything less and he never would have asked her to dance. Never would have had the chance to ask for her hand in marriage, because he never believed she would say yes.

Gaston had paid for the wedding without question, richer than him by far. Standing proud and tall as his best man, smiling broadly in good humor, as LeFou stumbled a bit over his vows, so nervous he couldn’t believe he hadn’t tripped over anything else during the ceremony.

Belle would be getting married very soon now. LeFou still hadn’t seen the groom, at least not in his human form, but knew he would be brave and handsome and selfless. Again, it wouldn’t be magic if it wasn’t.

He wondered why there wasn’t anything in the stories about the villains. Surely, people had to know them, some of them had to have at least one friend, to grieve when they were gone. Or perhaps he was just being silly.

The top of the tower was a good distance up, and LeFou took a few deep breaths, the air slightly chillier than it had been on the ground. No one was around, he hadn’t heard any sounds since halfway through his climb. Everyone was busy on the ground floor, preparing the wedding feast and the ballroom for all the festivities to follow. He’d even seen a few carriages that hadn’t come from the village – perhaps the king was already trying to re-establish his connections with his neighbors.

LeFou could only wish him luck, certainly no ill will. Sad as his friend’s death was, he believed Belle’s account. None of this was anyone’s fault but Gaston’s.

“I still miss you anyway, you know,” he mumbled to himself, stepping out onto the parapets.

A broad stone railing provided ample protection, he was short enough that even the wind didn’t bother him much, blowing a bit at his coat, tugging at his hair, but nothing more. The sky was cloudless, the sun soft and warm, and it wasn’t until he saw the shattered remains of what had once been a gargoyle that it even seemed possible anyone could die here.

He glanced up, finding the few places where tiles had been pulled away, deep grooves from massive claws in the stone, that no one had thought to cover up yet. Soon, someone would come up here and repair the damage the magic hadn’t fixed, but he’d been lucky to be here now. LeFou wasn’t sure why, but it was important to see even these small markers of his friend’s last moments.

Screwing up his courage, he leaned over the railing, less afraid of the heights as imagining what it must have been like for Gaston to fall all that way – and the chasm was deep, he could see it from here. It had probably been worse in the night, with the storm – he only hoped that it had been quick, and was grateful there could be no chance for survival, that his friend had not suffered before he died.

Only one last thing to do here, and then he could go home. No reason to go to the wedding, Belle could not have wanted him there any more than the other villagers did. Gaston had always been his friend, had protected him from bullies and given him a place to be, a purpose. Not so noble, but better than what he could have found on his own. He was the right-hand man to the greatest hunter in the world, the best sky he could hang his star in. He wasn’t sure how he would ever get used to just being LeFou.

LeFou reached in his pocket, the smooth medallion gleaming bright and golden as he pulled it into the sunlight. Gaston had given it to him for safekeeping, not wanting to display it in the tavern and not really needing such tokens for himself – he knew his own worth. It wasn’t his to keep, just to hold on to until his friend wanted it back, and now that Gaston was dead...

A slight nose against the stone made him turn, and he gazed at the man who had come around the parapet with wide eyes, on the receiving end of the same surprised stare. Richly embroidered clothing, all suede and gold and linen – and in case it wasn’t obvious enough who he was, the gold circlet certainly proclaimed him king of this castle. Lefou was a simple farmer, but even he knew how to bow to royalty.

“No, wait. You don’t have to. I’d really prefer... please get up.”

All right, so the tentative voice was not what he expected. LeFou did stand up fast, studying this strangely hesitant ruler. He had been expecting to be discovered, asked to leave or just thrown out on his ear. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to meet the king himself, up here all alone.

“Is everything all right, your highness? Nothing wrong with the wedding?”

“Oh, no. Everything’s wonderful.”

LeFou could see the change in his eyes, when he thought of who was waiting for him, of marrying Belle. Gaston had often teased him about his similar moony looks whenever Cosette was mentioned. The thought of his friend, of why he was here brought him back to the moment, and he realized the king was watching him.

“May I join you?”

A silly question, it was _his_ castle. LeFou was startled by his hesitance – then again, this was the man who had once been a beast, and only newly human. It became clearer, why he might be up here.

“Yes, of course. Too many people down there, highness?”

The king smiled sheepishly. “I am a bit... unused to all the company. I just needed to take a breath, somewhere I could be alone – though I am not sad to find at least one other person who enjoys the view.”

He folded his hands, leaning against the railing, and for a while they sat there in silence. The king looked at him once, though Lefou pretended not to notice, and perhaps realized he wasn’t here for the view. LeFou had meant to pay his respects in private and leave, an impossibility now that he was not alone.

“I think... I know you, a little. Belle told me, though she didn’t think you would come today. You... you were Gaston’s friend.”

Well, there went the hope he could get out of this without being noticed. He could feel the king’s earnest gaze on him, but refused to face it, fiddling with the token in his hands.

“I’m sorry, your highness.” LeFou knew he would stumble over the words, and tried to get them out as quickly as he could. “Sorry for my part in this, and sorry for what Gaston tried to do, for what his pride led him to. I regret that you met him at his absolute worst. He was not always that man. I only hope you can believe me.”

“If vanity and pride were unforgivable sins, I would not be here today.” The king said, tossing a small, wistful smile toward the sky. “I believe your friend and I were very much alike, until a short while ago. I only regret that my good fortune happened at the sake of his.”

LeFou shook his head. “I didn’t come here to blame you, your highness. I didn’t mean for anyone to see me. Gaston always made his own decisions, good and bad. It would be unjust of me to pretend anyone else was responsible.”

“I am grateful for that kindness... I hadn’t considered it quite that way.” The king looked down, as the medallion caught the sun just right, flashing brightly for a moment. “What is that?”

It was a majestic trophy, even for a king. A medallion carrying the carved image of golden buck, horns curved and arched in a crown of their own. LeFou traced his thumb around the engraving for another moment before holding it out to the king.

“It’s the winner’s prize, from a hunting match they hold in the spring, a little ways away from here. Bows and arrows, no guns allowed. Only the best from each village are allowed to attend. The award goes to the hunter who comes back with the most impressive trophy.”

He remembered every moment of that day: from the instant Gaston plucked him out of bed well before dawn – he’d had the sense to just sleep in his clothes – to the meal he’d eaten as he woke up, trying to keep up with his friend’s towering stride, to the way Gaston had surveyed the competition, when LeFou could tell by the look in his friend’s eye that there _was_ no competition.

“It was a good day. Spirits were high, everyone was excited. The whole village was cheering for him, and I would help make sure he came back the victor.”

LeFou may have been short and somewhat clumsy, but he had spent many years learning how to be the perfect trail partner. How to sit for long hours, waiting for the right opportunity. How to be silent, and know the difference between wineskin and weapon when Gaston gestured to him.

He’d been frozen through, the day of the competition unexpectedly cold, though Gaston had shown no signs of feeling it. Nothing in his eyes besides the hunger for victory. They’d walked for hours, Gaston not even seeming to track, just walking. LeFou had followed silently, wondering if they’d even make it back to the competition by dusk when his friend had suddenly stopped short. LeFou had never even seen what must have caught his eye, only the slight flick of his fingers, asking for his bow.

“He was meant to win that year, I could feel it before we ever reached the spot. Everything just... came together. It was perfect.”

Even with his size and strength, it was still amazing to watch how easily Gaston could draw a bow back, how the arrows he let fly never missed their target. This time was no different, a magnificent buck, nearly the same as the one on the token, stepped right out in front of them, as if it had been waiting. The sun moved from behind a cloud, illuminating it like some mythic spirit. It was a perfect moment, and Gaston’s arrow struck fast and true, and the deer fell without making a sound.

“He won without question, none of the other hunters came close. By the time we reached the village everyone had gathered at the tavern, and Gaston told them to turn the taps on and keep them flowing – we had such a celebration. It lasted until morning, and everyone was so happy.”

LeFou felt his smile fall, as the memories faded, and he was left with this king, this man that Gaston had tried to murder. No way to look around it, whatever beastly form he once had held was no justification at all. Belle had been right, they had been blind and this man had nearly died for all their foolishness.

“Gaston was my friend. I don’t regret that. Generous and helpful and strong. He had a temper, though, and hated to lose. It is not an excuse, but the only explanation I have.”

It was a little surprising how chagrined the king looked, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, only grudgingly meeting Lefou’s eye.

“I am... quite familiar with having too much of a temper for my own good. It is not easy to change who we are, and how we act. It was...” He paused, and handed the medal back. “I’m sorry that you lost your friend.”

LeFou tried to speak, but turned away as his throat closed up, grateful when the king did not say anything, just stood by and let him recover. An uncomfortable silence stretched out over the parapet, and LeFou tried to think of something to say, certain he shouldn’t let things end like this, even if he never planned on returning to this castle again.

“So... do you hunt?”

“I...” The king looked down at his hands. “I used to. It’s been... quite some time.”

“Where do you keep your bows? I’ve never seen royal weapons before.” He smiled a little, as the king’s brow furrowing in an expression that made him look like a bewildered boy.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite... sure.” The king’s expression was sheepish, obviously afraid he’d be laughed at.

“Well, that won’t do.”

LeFou was feeling suddenly, strangely confident, and almost protective of this awkward young king. The man had a wife, beautiful lands, attentive servants – but perhaps he still needed a friend?

“If you’d like, once you’re married and settled in... I’d be happy to help you out. I don’t mean to presume, but I do know all the best hunting spots in these woods for miles and miles around.”

“Enough to win me one of those medals?” The king’s voice was unsure, and LeFou knew he could have taken it badly – but he grinned instead.

“Far be it for me to tell a king to rein in his ambitions.” A few servants could be heard from below, calling for their absentee groom. “I think you should hurry up. Your future is waiting.”

The king nodded, and moved toward the stairs, looking back at the door. “Thank you, LeFou.”

“Your Highness.”

LeFou watched the king walk away, finally stepping back to the rail, turning the medallion over in his hand. He’d come to pay his last respects to his friend, not to make a new one. Yet here he was, all but the king’s new advisor, and it did sound like a great deal of fun, to be able to teach everything he’d learned. Cosette would never believe it.

He would still miss his friend, but Gaston’s death no longer seemed the end of his own life, his only chance to do anything more. Gaston would live on too, every time he showed the king how to draw a bow, use a knife, and perhaps even find that next prize-winning buck.

“This one will always be yours, though. Gaston... the greatest hunter in the world.”

 _Goodbye._

He leaned back, and let the medallion fly, watching it glint and gleam as it tumbled, disappearing into the chasm. LeFou watched the space it had disappeared in for a while, until he heard the wedding horns trumpet, turned to see a flock of doves fly up into the sky, cheers and congratulations coming from below as the king and his new queen stepped out into the sun.

 _It really is a beautiful day._

Smiling, LeFou turned, and took the first steps of his journey home, feeling more content than he’d ever expected to.

A man couldn’t always choose to be rich, handsome or strong, but he could choose the sky to hang his star in, and that was as important as anything could be.


End file.
